


Hot Medicine

by misura



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Background Franklin Clay/William Roque, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 16:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "I want a sexy nurse," Jensen said.(in which Jensen recovers from a gunshot wound and Clay purchases a chicken)





	Hot Medicine

"I want a sexy nurse," Jensen said.

"How about some chicken soup?" Clay asked.

 

"You know, it's just a simple gunshot wound," Roque said.

He was sharpening his knife, which Clay took to mean that deep down inside, he was as worried about Jensen as the rest of them. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's just a simple gunshot wound." Deep, _deep_ down inside. "You're not his mother, Clay. You're his commanding officer."

"From what I've heard, his mother wasn't really the caring kind." Probably the only thing she might have in common with Roque.

"Look." Roque put down his knife. "One time or another, we've all been shot. It happens."

"Any idea where I can find a chicken? Cheap, preferably?"

 

Pooch stared.

Cougar waggled his eyebrows in a way that suggested many things, some of them unpleasant, others less so.

 

"That was quick."

"I think I just saw Cougar in a nurse's costume."

Roque looked thoughtful for a moment. Clay wondered if there were some unexplored sexual fantasies there that he didn't want to know about. This being Roque, probably not. "You sure it wasn't a uniform?"

Was there a difference, and if so, how would one be able to tell at a quick glance? "Pretty sure, yes."

"So good news, you're off the hook for the chicken soup."

 

"Careful there, nurse. Genuine American hero, wounded in the line of duty over here."

"Next time, duck," Cougar said, rumaging around in his first aid kit.

Cougar was the protective-occasionally-wandering-into-possessive type (also known as the 'you shot at my boyfriend, prepare to die (provided he doesn't shoot you first and/or my commanding officer tells me to back off and cool it)' type, also known as 'totally Jensen's Mr Perfect' type.)

Thus, he had come here to give Jensen either a second dose of first aid (so second aid, maybe?) followed by after-mission sex, or a scolding, followed by 'but even so, I'm glad you're still alive' sex.

Clearly a win-or-win-more situation, although Jensen'd prefer the prolonging of the nurse fantasy. "I was a little busy at the time." It wasn't everyone who could hack into a mainframe while being shot at.

Cougar muttered something uncomplimentary in Spanish. Jensen didn't regret having learned the language - it came in handy quite often, but sometimes, he wished that he could have gotten a native and/or a hot boyfriend to teach him.

It was all perfectly nice to be able to ask for directions to the museum and to inquire whether or not the hotel also had room service, vegetarian dinner options and/or parking space, but he felt there was a considerable gap in his vocabulary when it came to street slang.

Calling someone an overripe melon just didn't quite get the job done. (Which was to say: the guy'd laughed out loud and then Cougar'd made his head explode, so mission accomplished, kind of, but still.)

 

"He's going to be okay, right?" Pooch asked.

Roque produced a sound indicating strong disgust and/or a desire to kill someone.

Clay decided that on second thought, a foraging expedition was a perfectly sound idea. If not a chicken, then perhaps something for Roque to pour down his throat in order to feel better.

 

"Whoa. Easy, tiger."

"I'm just wrapping some fresh bandages around your arm," said Cougar.

"Oh." Jensen tried not to sound disappointed. He wasn't disappointed. What kind of guy would be disappointed at getting his boyfriend to provide some no doubt excellent medical care?

"I thought you said you wanted a sexy nurse," Cougar said.

Trust Cougar to use his own words against him. "I said sexy, not 'flirty but refusing to put out'."

Cougar cocked his head. Jensen wondered if he'd just made a tactical error. "Should I take off the uniform?"

"You definitely should not take off the uniform. Are you kidding me?"

 

"You ask me, guy should be paying _us_ to take that thing off his hands."

"It's not that bad," Clay said, smiling at the would be chicken seller on the off-chance the man spoke English.

"It's a little scrawny," said Pooch.

"We're going to make chicken soup out of it. It's not a problem."

"You know how to make chicken soup from scratch now?"

"I have many hidden talents. There's a lot you don't know about me, Roque."

Roque gave him a look Clay usually saw him use while playing cards. "Not half as much as you don't know about me, Clay."

"Guys, I think that's a supermarket over here. Think they got some canned soup or something?"

 

"Damn. That was definitely the best 'glad we're still alive and that you're wearing a nurse's costume' sex of my life."

Cougar smirked, which might mean there would shortly be an attempt to break that particular record.

Jensen liked that idea, really he did, but then again, it had been a long, exciting day, and this whole getting shot thing might do well to get the adrenaline flowing, but once that was gone, it kind of ended up taking a lot out of you, and -

 

"We've got chicken soup." Grossly overpriced at ten American dollars a can, but then, beggars, choosers.

"He's sleeping," Cougar said, sitting down. He looked a little worn out. Worried, probably.

No longer wearing a nurse's costume, or nurse's uniform, so Clay decided that everyone'd be just as happy to never speak of that again. It probably hadn't been in his or Roque's size anyway.

"We've also got some beer," said Roque, grabbing one bottle for himself. "Jensen's speedy recovery."

Clay'd drunk to many worse things, and few better. He grinned a 'now who's the soft-hearted mothering type, eh?' at Roque, who shrugged impassively and glared back a 'shut up and drink your beer, Clay, unless you want me to come over there and make you'.

Clay winked a 'maybe later' back and turned to ask Pooch something about their transportation situation for the next few days.


End file.
